


To Save The Past

by BelowTheWind



Category: Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Minor Character Death, Poisoning, no beta reader we die like men, will be more chapters soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-12 15:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28887297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelowTheWind/pseuds/BelowTheWind
Summary: been working slowly on backstories for my dnd pcs. do i ever finish them? sometimes. those ones are posted here. can get kinda dark.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 1





	To Save The Past

**Author's Note:**

> sar is kinda fucked up

“You’re far too kind.” Sariyah smiles, lifting her wine glass to her lips. At the end of the table, Elliot Matthews smiles as well, shaking his head. 

“Nonsense. A lovely lady like yourself deserves to be wined and dined.” 

She stifles a giggle behind her fingers, tucking a lock of hair behind a rounded ear. A soft white dress hangs over her shoulders and down her frame, lacy hem brushing over the top of soft, brown leather boots. Bows tie over her shoulders, holding her dress up, hair in pigtails that hang down over her shoulders. 

The servants come to remove their empty plates, and Sar hides a frown behind her wine glass. Their heads remain bowed, and she pretends not to notice the bruises on their wrists and arms. She doesn’t spare them a glance as they pick up her plate from before her, turning to bustle back to the kitchen. 

As they pass, Sariyah tilts a vial in to her hands. Wet fingers smear around the lip of her glass, glancing at him with half lidded eyes, a coy smile curling over her lips. “So,” she hums, picks up the glass and walks his way. 

Elliot is already scooting his chair back, a knowing twist of his lips as he spreads his thighs for her to sink down on to. “So.” He continues, and Sar has to resist the urge to smash her head against the table. His hands slide up her back, and she bites back a frown, tilting her glass to her lips. As saturated as it is against the rim of her cup, she can taste the lingering poison - bitter, sharp, but no more bitter than her wine. 

She never did like wine. 

Holding a sip in her mouth, she leans forward - Elliot only appearing all too eager to meet her halfway. His hands smooth up her side as she kisses him, tongue pushing cool red liquid past his lips. They kiss for a while longer, till he swallows, and she pulls back with a smile. 

Lifting her hand, she wipes her lips with the back of it, and the smile in gone. His eyes widen, a hand going to his throat, and Elliot looks up at her with wide, blue eyes. “You think you nobles would be sharing stories like this.” She says calmly, ignoring the sounds of choking behind her, rifling through her pocket to dump a second vial in to another cup of wine. 

She tilts it back, scrunching up her nose as she drinks - shaking her head after emptying the glass, setting it back down to the table with a sharp clink. Elliot, by this time, is gagging, retching up nothing, specks of white at his lips, already beginning to tinge with blue as his lungs squeeze behind his ribcage, working overtime to force oxygen to a brain that just isn’t accepting it anymore. 

Sighing, Sar leans against the heavy oak table, reaching up to undo the pigtails in her hair. “Too prideful, I imagine.” 

_ "Cut her ears," one says, "see if she's still so prideful, then." _

_ "Don't you dare." Sar hisses, chains rattling between her hands as she jerks back. "I'll fucking kill you myself, don't test me!" _

_ The other snorts, a laugh, the sharp sound of a dagger pulled from a thigh holster. "Think she'll still be so tongue in cheek when her own people don't even want her anymore?" _

_ "They already don't want her. That's why she's ours, remember?" His heavy boots come stomping over to her, sneering, jerking away from his touch, only for a hand to grasp at her hair and tilt her head back. "Hold her still. Or don't. Won't bother me none if I fuck this up because she won't stop squirming."  _

_ Sariyah refuses to let them see her cry. "You'll regret this, one day."  _

_ He rolls his eyes, and the cold bite of steel presses to the cartilage of her upper ear. "Sure thing, sweetheart. Already quaking in my boots." _

Sariyah takes a slow breath, opening eyes that she didn’t know she closed as she faces Elliot again. He’s slumped down in his chair, by this point, convulsing once or twice as his lungs strain one final time before giving out. 

Pulling a hair clip from her pocket, Sar licks her lips, taking another breath as she pins her bangs back. “Always so dirty.” She mumbles, his reflection in bright purple eyes - slumped back against the chair, halfway down the seat, head tilted back and eyes wide, red, tears streaking down his pallid cheeks. 

Slipping on a pair of black gloves, Sar cracks her knuckles, shaking out her hands. “Alright, big guy. How we gonna do this.” 

The door behind the chair creaks open, and a sharp gasp echoes about the large dining hall. Slowly, Sariyah leans up, catching the gaze of a young maid as she shakes, her eyes wide. With a careful, slow smile, Sar brings a single finger up to smiling lips,  _ “Shh.”  _

Immediately, the maid scramble backwards, the door swinging shut behind her as she books it down the hall. 

“I’ll never understand why they’re always so loyal.” Sariyah frowns, her brows furrowing. “You nobles treat them like dirt under your heel, and suddenly you’re worth dying for?” She runs a hand over her face, looking back at the door the woman left through, lips twisting as she hears the frantic screaming echo down the hall. 

“Gods, I didn’t want to do this.” She says, and for a moment, she truly sounds remorseful, as she slides the dagger from the strap under her dress. “Blood always stains my whites.” 

Carefully, she brings the flat of the blade to her lips and presses a gentle kiss to it, eyes closing. “Forgive me.” If only the maid had kept quiet - but unfortunately, Sariyah can’t have word getting out. 

She brushes a few smudges of nonexistent dirt from her dress, boots thumping in muted tones against the carpeted floor, thick red rug a stunning background against the sheer white of her dress. Nobles didn’t deserve to die at the hilt of her blade. It was too personal, too intimate. They deserved to suffer. 

But for the rest of the people, here...she would look in to their eyes and whisper an apology as their life spilled out, warm and sticky, over gloved hands - cold, calculating, and unwavering. 


End file.
